


Easier

by xuxitime



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, but i guess the story is too, these tags are so damn sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuxitime/pseuds/xuxitime
Summary: It should have all been easier after opening up. That's what the world had promised him.It seemed the world had lied.
Kudos: 24





	Easier

**Author's Note:**

> i found this older drabble and i still really like it, so here you go!
> 
> (this could technically be read as a sequel to my other san angst fic 'empty' if you really wanted, but its not necessarily written as that lol)

It should have been easier now. That's what San had always believed. Build up the strength to admit everything, to open up, show all the ugly pathetic parts of him and feel the shame red hot on his skin, and afterwards, you're free. That was everyone's advice wasn't it? All the websites, the youtubers with support lines in their description, the self help books. That's what they all said. reach out to someone. Tell someone. Don't do this alone. It's easier this way. You don't have to carry it all by yourself.

But it wasn't.

There were just more eyes, more concerned looks, more asking if he was okay. And every single time he had to convince himself to not tell them he was getting better. Because he wasn't. And he hated that the lies came easier than the truth. It should be easier now. They already knew. But they still didn't understand.  
They didn't understand that he loved them, but he also wanted to scream at them, and he wanted them to leave him alone, and he wanted them to give up on him, and he wanted to die. 

It wasn't easier. Nothing about the soft smiles and shoulder touches and genuine questions was easier. It was easier to believe they didn't care. That he could wither away and rot and no one would notice. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he wanted to stop hurting.

Nothing about the probing questions was easier. The eyes that demanded an answer. That needed to know. But what exactly do you feel then? He didn't know. Like everything is happening all at once and I'm the only thing not happening. Like the whole world is sluggish and covered in goo and I can't move like I'm used to. Like there's nothing inside of me, absolutely nothing, and it's becoming more and more.  
There was no right answer. There was no explanation. 

There was only crying in the cold. Knees too weak to keep standing. Back against the cold wall, shivering. Knees to his chest. Hands grasping at anything, anything he could find, until he was clutching the shirt of his friend. Warm arms embracing him, gentle whispers in his ear.

There were only panic attacks at night, waking up in cold sweats and not knowing anything at all. Not knowing if he was even alive until a voice told him to breathe and hands held his hand long enough until he could feel their ruggedness and warmth and the small circles their thumbs made on his palms.

There were only friends who understood better and better, who fell and rose with him, who felt his emotions more than he did, who cried for him and loved for him and learned to teach him how to be him again. 

But it was never easier.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
